


Measure Of A Man:  Helping Hands

by jessebee



Series: Measure Of A Man [3]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: Angst, First Time, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Lennie has a couple of problems and Mike tries to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measure Of A Man:  Helping Hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boston.

 

Goddamn. Fucking. Boston.

 

And of course the weather was cold and angry and raining and friggin' _miserable_ , which fit the way he felt just _perfectly_. Lennie Briscoe leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the eighth floor window and breathed, trying to shake himself out of it before his partner Mike Logan came back out of the bathroom of their shared hotel room.

 

He wanted to be home, in New York.

 

He wanted the prickly itch under his skin, adrenaline left over from a shouting match with Boston PD over the prisoner they were supposed to be transporting, to go the hell away. He wanted the ache in his shoulder and the bruises on his ribs, his prizes from his and Mike's friendly little tussle with a perp the day before, to stop hurting. He was feeling his age tonight, and he fucking _hated_ it when that happened.

 

He wanted to find a pool hall, take the adrenaline from today and the prod of ugly memories from his last trip to this hellhole of a city, and burn them all out in the crack of ivory and the thrill of running the table.

 

But it was late night in Boston, city of beans, and the skies had opened like every two-bit god from here to forever was pissing on them, and he obviously wasn't going anywhere.

 

Most of all, he wanted a drink. Or a cheap, hard fuck. And those were the biggest reasons he wasn't going anywhere.

 

A click and swish announced his partner's reemergence. "Can's all yours. I'm gonna turn in," Mike said, his voice a little more subdued than his usual, same way it had been all evening.

 

 _Well, you did make him sit up and take notice today, spouting off like that_ , his annoying little voice of reason cackled. _That's probably the first time he's seen what kinda_ _real_ _temper you've got buried in there._

 

 _Shut. The Fuck. UP. Already_ , Lennie snarled back silently. _YOUR help I don't need_.

 

"Thanks," he said out loud to Mike. "I'll turn in too, then. Y'don't need to leave the light on." He headed for the bathroom, closed the door. Leaned on it a moment. Hoped like hell he still had painkillers in his travel kit.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

It was still raining. Lennie could hear it drumming on the window even though he couldn't see it -- the curtains were closed to block out most of the city light. 

 

He shoulda been asleep. But he wasn't.

 

A hot shower earlier had taken care of some of the ache and some of the tension, but not nearly enough of either. He was still restless, and he still hurt.

 

And it was late -- strike that, it was now early, and the couple of Tylenol he'd taken before crashing didn't seem to be doing squat. He shifted slowly onto his back and sighed. It was gonna be a long night --

 

"Lennie?"

 

Damn. "Did I wake you?"

 

"Nah. I sleep like hell most nights anyway, and hotels just make it worse." Mike's voice was deep but distinct in the darkness; it really didn't sound like he'd been asleep. "What's wrong?"

 

Lennie hated to admit it. "Long day, and I'm feeling that little fight with Jefferson yesterday more than I thought. Shoulder's talkin' to me."

 

"Didja take something?" An obvious concern.

 

"Yeah, but not enough, apparently."

 

"I gotta coupla flavors of pills with me, you want one?"

 

Stupid pride warred with common sense, but only for a moment. "That'd be great, Mike. Thanks."

 

Fabric rustled as Mike tossed back the covers of the other double bed and got up, pulled the bathroom door mostly shut before snapping on the light. More noises, the sound of water running, and the light snapped off as Mike came back out, made his way over and crouched down by Lennie's bed. Lennie propped himself up on his good side with a stifled groan.

 

"Here." The solid dark shape that was his partner laid two somethings in his hand. Lennie didn't hesitate. He wasn't allergic to anything that he knew of, and the idea of not trusting Mike never crossed his mind. He tossed the pills back, chased them with a couple of sips from the glass of water Mike put in his hand next. Setting the half full glass on the nightstand, Lennie lay back down, the groan not stifled quite as successfully this time.

 

"Think you can get some sleep?" Mike asked. "Gotta a long day tomorrow, too."

 

Lennie sighed. "Sure I will." Eventually. "'Course the best sleeping pill'd be a good massage, work this out." He grinned suddenly. "Or a good fuck, that usually does the trick too."

 

There was a pause, then a muffled sort of snort from Mike. "Well, I can help with the massage, if you want."

 

Lennie cocked an eyebrow at him, although it was undoubtedly wasted in the dimness. "You gotta sideline I don't know about?"

 

The snort was louder this time. "I dated a therapist for a while, learned a few things."

 

"And you wanna practice on me?"

 

"Oh ye of little faith. Roll over. Which shoulder?"

 

"Left."

 

Lennie moved slowly into the middle of his double bed, onto his stomach. More noises punctuated Mike's second trip into the bathroom, and a minute or two later the mattress shifted as Mike slid onto it. The sheet was pulled down, and Lennie felt his partner's body heat as Mike settled against him, hip and thigh against Lennie's side. There was a little snap, and a moment later another one, like a plastic top being flipped open and closed. "Whatchagot?" 

 

"Mineral oil," Mike replied as his hands came down on Lennie's back, slid back and forth across his skin. "No smell, no color, slick as hell, million and one uses."

 

 _And you have this with you because?_ Lennie started to say, but lost it in a groan as Mike dug in. The broad hands were delightfully warm, strong fingers homing in on Lennie's aching muscles like Mike had a road map for them.

 

"Jeezus, Lennie, you're like steel cable here. Try'n relax, will ya?"

 

"Easy for you to say," Lennie muttered into the pillow, accented it with another groan as Mike hit a particularly tight spot.

 

"'M' I hurting?" Mike sounded concerned, backed off the pressure.

 

"Yeah," Lennie gritted, "but it's good. Keep goin'."

 

Mike chuckled, and it sounded even warmer than it usually did, there in the dark. "Kinky, Len. Didn't know you were into pain."

 

"Been married twice, remember?"

 

Mike's movements slowed again as he laughed out loud this time. And it struck Lennie, not for the first time, what a bedroom voice his partner had. _Bet that works on ninety percent of the women he tries it on. Hell, it'd work on me. And other guys too, I'm sure, 'cause he said that night -- or I'm pretty damn sure he said, anyway -- that he plays for both teams. 'Course, so do I, I guess, if you count those coupla times back when …._

 

That, however, steered his thoughts down avenues where they didn't need to be going. But fueled as they were by Mike's voice and proximity, his sure touch on Lennie's skin when Lennie hadn't had the pleasure of someone else's hands _anywhere_ on his body for much too long, they just took the wheel away from him and drove. Which meant that by the time Mike actually did manage to ease the ache and stiffness in his shoulder and back, Lennie had a whole different ache and stiffness someplace further south.

 

"Lennie?"

 

Now if only there was a way to achieve a little friction against the mattress without his partner pickin' up on it -- 

 

"Lennie."

 

Shit.

 

"You're tensing up again, blowing all the work I just did here." Mike's voice was somewhere between teasing and uneasy, his hands still moving slowly, almost caressingly now, on Lennie's back. "Somethin' wrong?"

 

Afterwards, Lennie never could figure out why he said it, exactly -- maybe just because it was that murky, confessional hour in the middle of the night. He heaved a deep sigh, his breath making a hissing sound across the fabric of the pillowcase. "Been too long since somebody's really touched me, is all. Body gets -- ideas, all by itself, sometimes."

 

Mike's hands stopped.

 

_**Shit** _ _. Good going, Briscoe, now he's gonna ease away from you with some half-assed, nervous crack …._

 

But Mike didn't move away. He was silent for a minute, body tense and hands motionless, but he didn't move away. "I … can help you with that too, if you want."

 

Shock robbed Lennie of speech for some moments before he found it again; and then a sudden angry, embarrassed flair of emotions drove his next words. "I'm not looking for a pity-fuck here, Mike."

 

"I ain't offering you one," Mike said sharply, then stopped. Heaved a sigh himself. "Len … I like you, in case you hadn't noticed. Okay, I was a jerk when we were first assigned, after Phil was hurt, but we're friends now, I hope."

 

Something in that tone wanted an answer. "Good friends, far as I'm concerned," Lennie said, knowing it for the truth.

 

He felt Mike relax a little. "Hell, you know things about me hardly anybody else does, and for some reason you're still talkin' to me. So, as a good friend, lemme help you out?"

 

Lennie took a deep breath, tried to let go of his embarrassment along with the air. "What are you offering here, Mike?"

 

Mike paused, then squeezed his shoulder. "Well, I've been told I've got pretty good hands." His voice was warm again, but oddly -- shy, almost, even as it invited Lennie in on the joke.

 

The concept of Mike Logan being shy about _anything_ was just so weird that Lennie had to snicker. "I can vouch for your massage skills, anyway."

 

"Another satisfied customer." Mike laughed again, and Lennie knew he'd been right earlier -- that bedroom voice sure the hell _did_ work on him. "So …. " The upward lilt made it a definite question.

 

Damn, was the man gonna make him actually say it? But then Mike had just handed over another pretty big piece of himself into Lennie's keeping again, hadn't he? Lennie's bothersome sense of fair play jabbed him -- it was time to even the score a little. "Haven't done anything like this since college," he admitted softly.

 

Mike stilled, obviously hearing what Lennie hadn't quite said, then squeezed his shoulder again. "How'bout you roll over onto your good side?"

 

He felt Mike's weight leave the mattress as he carefully rolled, sensed rather than saw the motions of Mike laying something on the bed in front of him. He put out a hand, felt the distinctive nubbiness of a towel under his fingertips. _Musta brought it earlier to wipe his hands with --_ The bed dipped once more as Mike got back onto it. Behind him. "Mike?"

 

"This way if you open your eyes, it doesn't have to be me if you don't want," Mike said almost in his ear, his upper body fitting itself warm and solid against Lennie's back.

 

 _Chest and shoulders like that, I'm gonna think it's a woman?_ Lennie nearly cracked. He bit his lip instead as a broad hand brushed his waist and slipped easily around to his stomach, teased at the waistband of his boxers. His skin tingled under the touch, and his interest, which had waned a little during their "discussion," perked right back up again. "If I minded it being you, I wouldn'ta said yes," he managed, his breath catching as strong fingers slipped lower, circled. "But you don't hafta be -- seductive about it -- "

 

"Shhh." Mike whispered it directly in his ear this time, and Lennie clamped down as best he could on the shiver. "There's no rush, either. Lemme make this good for you."

 

Lennie snickered, although he couldn't seem to put any strength behind it. "What, you gotta rep to maintain?" he zinged weakly, because he had to say _something_. Then he gasped as sharp teeth nipped his earlobe just -- hard -- enough.

 

"You can give me the judge's score later."

 

Whatever Lennie'd been going to say to that was lost completely as those same strong fingers tugged his underwear aside and closed around his erection.

 

He groaned and closed his eyes as Mike pumped him once ve-ry slow-ly, spreading warm slickness all over his aching length. The grip was firm, and tighter than any woman who'd ever done this to him, as tight as Lennie would have done himself. But the hold, the feel, the pressure was different, ridges of callus in different places. This wasn't his own hand, and it sure the fuck wasn't a woman's. And that was exciting as all hell. Another groan escaped as Mike pumped him again and kept going this time, slow and steady.

 

"That work?" Mike's voice was deep, and it rubbed Lennie's nerve endings like fur on a dry winter's night, trailing little sparks all the way.

 

"God, yeah," he breathed. "Whoever said you got good hands was _not_ lying."

 

Mike hummed. "How do you like it?"

 

"Faster …. " Mike gradually picked up the pace until -- "There. Yeah. _God_ , that's it." Lennie tipped his head back on the pillow, felt hot breath and then a tentative brush of lips against his skin, just under his ear. He arched toward the touch, and the lips returned to investigate, traveling down to lick and nibble lightly at the curve of his neck and shoulder. "Yes," he groaned, squirming as little fire-thrills chased through him, feeding the growing inferno between his legs.

 

Mike stroked him tight and steady, warm and slippery and almost perfect, on and on and on as his partner's mouth roamed his neck and shoulder. Lennie's hips began to push a little as the fire got hotter, the need to come more urgent.

 

He twisted slowly, unable to stay still as the pressure built, needing more, needing …. He reached down and found Mike's arm where it lay across his hip, closed his fingers around it. Not stopping, not directing, just holding on.

 

"Len?" It was more of a pant this time, like maybe Lennie wasn't the only one hot and bothered here. 

 

"Harder." His voice came out a low moan, a sound he might have been embarrassed about if the concept of dignity had had any meaning right then.

 

A half-grunt, half-growl rippled low in the darkness as Mike obliged with a little more speed, a little more pressure. Lennie pushed his shoulders back and his hips forward, reaching almost mindlessly now for the rapture that snug fist was promising him, there was nothing but thrust and thrust and thrust and the tongue on his neck and the deep voice in his ear and -- " _YES_!"

 

One last perfect stroke and Lennie was lost as his world went white. Bliss stretched him taut, muscle and bone shuddering under the strain. Then the fire surged outward and exploded, searing down every nerve as it took him apart, melted him down until he was nothing but sweet, sweet release …. 

 

Gradually, grudgingly, he came back, feeling the brush of cool air against his sweaty skin, the fabric of the pillowcase against his face. The soft sough of Mike's breath. The easy, unmoving, secure pressure of Mike's hand at his groin.

 

Lennie felt like well-cooked spaghetti -- hot, wet, and limp. And very, very happy.

 

Mike made as if he'd move his arm away, so Lennie held on, not wanting to lose his touch just yet. Right at this moment, things were about damn near perfect, and he wanted to soak them in for a little while longer. The feel of his partner's bulk warm and solid against his back. Soft tickle of hair against Lennie's neck. Breath gusting over his skin. He was so comfortable, it was almost scary.

 

When he got a few more nerves reconnected, Lennie reached up slowly, landed a hand on Mike's hair, curved lazy fingers around the back of the younger man's neck. "Thanks," he whispered.

 

"You're welcome," his partner murmured back. "Think you can sleep now?"

 

Lennie started to answer, but had to pause for a sudden, face-splitting yawn. "Think I'm halfway there." God, was he ever. But -- "But what 'bout you?"

 

"What about me?"

 

"Gonna -- " Another yawn before he could continue. "Gonna let me return the favor?" A little corner of his brain was wide-eyed and utterly amazed that he'd actually asked that out loud. 

 

 _Why?_ Lennie countered drowsily. _'S'not like touching Mike is gonna be any kind of hardship._

 

Mike paused. "This was supposed to be for you."

 

"Rain check, then."

 

The pause was longer this time. "Okay."

 

"Hmm. Deal." That sounded good. Of course, as good as he felt right now, he'd probably agree to almost anything, including Murder One. The thought made him smile.

 

Mike's hand finally slipped away from his crotch as his partner shifted back. For a sleepy, crazy moment Lennie thought about asking him to stay. _'s so nice t' have another body next to you …._

 

Lennie dimly noticed Mike coming around to the other side of the bed and gently cleaning him up with the towel he'd laid down earlier. Distantly registered the sounds of his partner retreating to the bathroom as he himself drifted unresistingly towards la-la land.

 

Wondered vaguely, some minutes later, in those last few moments just before sleep took him, what Mike was doing in there that was taking him so long ….

 

 

_finis_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Measure Of A Man: Helping Hands  
> 7/27/05  
> jesse  
> Author: jesse  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Genre: Hurt/comfort, slash, sexxin  
> Pairing: Briscoe/Logan  
> Spoilers: Can't think of any  
> Warnings: Swearing, guys lending guys a helping hand  
> Word Count: ~3000  
> Summary: Third story in the Measure series, wherein Lennie has a couple of problems and Mike tries to help him out.
> 
> Note: Wow. It's a series. Scary, huh? All blame for this one can be laid at Leaper's paws, she started it. Along with aiding, abetting, egging on the author, etc.


End file.
